What Matters Most
by alohamora080
Summary: Harry learns what matters most.


24 November 1994

The fireplace crackled contentedly in the corner of the room, its sparkling embers dancing up and down the grate like yellow roses in a field of grass. The wood snapped and splintered in a sort of reassuring rhythm, and Harry yawned, rubbing his eyes sluggishly, as he leaned back against his favorite maroon armchair.

Several feet away, Hermione was seated precariously amongst a ruckus of haphazardly opened books, inky quills, upturned chairs, and brightly colored Gobstones. She was flipping fervently through her Charms notes, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as she searched for something—_anything_—that would help Harry.

Several moments passed in semi-peaceful silence, and, gradually, Harry felt his hearing begin to fade, his eyes flutter closed, his mind slowly numb.

"Harry." His eyes snapped open. Hermione was standing over him, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Nnh—yeah—I'm fine," Harry mumbled, breathing deeply as he reluctantly pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily for a moment. "Let's practice—" he stopped short, burying his face in his palms as he fought to suppress another yawn.

Hermione stared at him, and, for the first time in what seemed like ages, Harry felt the corners of his lips twitch. "What?" he asked her, amused.

"You look terrible," Hermione told him, shaking her head. "Maybe…Harry, maybe we ought to take a little break." But her voice was skeptical, as though she herself was scandalized by her own implications.

"We don't have time for breaks, Hermione," Harry said firmly, pulling out his wand. "I've got to get this spell right by morning."

Hermione bit her lip, evidently not ready to drop the matter. But, with a sigh of concession, she stepped back and picked up a worn-out copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. Dusting it off slightly, she held it up, and looked at Harry, nodding.

"_Accio book_!"

The book wriggled violently in Hermione's outstretched hands, eventually tipping out of her grip, and landing spectacularly at Harry's feet.

Harry groaned in frustration, flinging his wand to the floor. "That's it—I give up—I'm never going to learn this bloody—"

"Harry, you're doing fine," Hermione interrupted in placating voice. "Honestly, did you think that you could just get it in one try?"

"We've been practicing all day!"

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "And we're going to keep practicing until you've got it, understand?"

Harry ignored her, staring fixedly at the fireplace. Just twenty-four hours ago, he'd seen his godfather's face for the first time in months, in those very flames. How Harry wished he were here, now. Although he didn't know how much help Sirius would be, confined to the flames, it would be a comfort to see his face again.

"Harry…"

"Maybe you're right," Harry said shortly, sinking back down into the armchair, his eyes still glued to the fireplace. "Maybe we ought to take a break."

Hermione was silent, and for a moment, Harry wondered whether she too had given up. He chanced a glance in her direction. She was hunched over a piece of parchment, her quill traveling rapidly across the scroll.

In his curiosity, Harry forgot to be irritated. "What are you doing?" he asked her, eyebrows raised.

"Helping you," she said simply, applying the last few strokes to her masterpiece.

"What—?"

But, Hermione had gotten to her feet, picking up a nearby dictionary as she did so. Without a word, she handed Harry his wand, a strangely grim expression on her face. "Let's try again," she told him.

Utterly bewildered, Harry gave in. He raised his wand. "_Acc_—what the—!"

Hermione's face was contorted in the most peculiar fashion, her arms flayed and her eyes wide and unblinking. She snarled at him, nostrils flaring. And, pinned to the inside of her cloak was a caricature of what Harry could only assume to be a dragon.

The sight was so bizarre, so unexpected, that Harry could do but one thing.

"What?" Hermione demanded in what would have been a severe manner, had she not been desperately trying not to smile. Harry was doubled over, gasping for breath. "What's so funny?"

It was several minutes before Harry regained enough of himself to speak coherently. "What—" he breathed. "What was—?"

"You weren't able to concentrate on the charm because you were too concentrated on the dragon," Hermione explained pointedly. "So I figured I'd provide you with one less distraction!"

"Hermione, I was distracted by a dragon," Harry told her, shaking his head. "Not—" he squinted at the doodle. "A potato with eyes!"

Hermione spluttered in indignation. "A _potato_—Harry, I know your eyesight's not the greatest, but _really_—"

"This has got nothing to do with my eyesight!" Harry exclaimed in incredulity. "Anyone with even the slightest bit of sense would tell you the same thing! Honestly, the only reason I could tell it was a dragon was because of the fire coming out of its mouth—" Harry pointed at the squiggly lines Hermione had drawn by the creature's head. "Wait—hang on, maybe that's just steam…you know, to show that it's of the baked variety, and not the mashed—"

"Like you could do any better, Harry!"

"Of course I could!" Harry snatched up the quill, immediately darkening the dragon's eyebrows. He stepped back, satisfied. "There!"

Hermione looked appalled. "Now he's got caterpillars growing out of his eyes!"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

Harry didn't know quite how long this went on. He didn't know how long they squabbled over the state of the dragon, making edits and throwing each other critical remarks. All he knew was that, by the time they'd finished, they were both collapsed on the hearth, laughing, and the drawing resembled nothing more than an inky boulder.

A comfortable silence prevailed, punctuated only by Hermione's occasional giggle. Harry shot her a sideways glance. Her eyes were closed, but Harry doubted she was actually asleep. A hint of a smile was still playing at her lips.

He supposed he didn't really give Hermione quite enough credit for everything she did. She had, after all, spent the entire day helping him with the Summoning Charm. Not once had she said a word.

"_Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—oh, Harry—be careful!"_

Harry's heart gave a small jolt at the memory. And, suddenly, a rush of realization flowed to his head. Because for all of her intelligence, and common sense, and the time she spent holed up the library, Hermione knew more about friendship than Harry could ever fully appreciate.

"Harry, we should probably start practicing again," Hermione mumbled, barely stirring. Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned to him, starting slightly as she noticed his gaze on her. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing." He quickly looked away, climbing to his feet and holding out his arm so that she might as well. "Just…thanks, Hermione." And, Harry hoped she knew just how much he meant it.

"Don't be silly," she told him at once. But, Harry knew she was pleased.

Smiling to himself, Harry took a deep breath and pointed his wand. And, as he raised his arm, a whirlwind of memories raced each other through his mind. The anxious look on Hermione's face as she'd told McGonagall that Ron and Harry had saved her life…the way his heart had constricted with dread when he'd hurried into the hospital wing after Ron, Hermione's pale and petrified body just coming into view…the blur of shapes and colors that had flown past him, when Hermione had completed the final twist on the Time Turner…and, finally, the unwavering glint in Hermione's eyes, as she now placed the dictionary on her palm and held it out towards him.

"_Accio Dictionary_!"

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, his chest tighten with excitement, as the rune dictionary soared high into the air, spiraling wildly like an arrow. And, with his infallible skill as a Seeker, Harry did not need to think twice as the book hurtled towards him. He reached out and caught it deftly between his fingers, inhaling sharply as, at long last, he heard the soft _thud_ of leather against skin.

There was a stunned silence, as Harry gaped at the book in his hand and then up at Hermione, who looked on the verge of tears.

Then, the next minute, she had rocketed towards him, pulling him into a tight hug.

"That's better, Harry, that's loads better," Hermione whispered, when she stepped back. A tired, but encouraging smile was tugging at her lips.

"Well, now we know what to do next time I can't manage a spell," Harry said, feeling as though a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He threw the rune dictionary back to Hermione, so he could try again, "Threaten me with a dragon…right…" A surge of confidence coursed through him as he raised his wand once more. "_Accio Dictionary_!"

The heavy book careered out of Hermione's hand, and Harry seized it, yet again.

Hermione beamed.

* * *

Hi everyone!

This is my second entry for Morning Lilies's Yellow Rose Bowl: a friendship competition! Harry and Hermione! For this piece, I chose to expand on a scene from the Goblet of Fire. Page 347 of the Scholastic version; not sure what it is in the Bloomsbury edition.

On a different note, my story "That One Day" has been nominated "Best Next-Gen Drabble/Series" in the Couture Awards 2012, along with my one-shot, "Twelve!" The poll is up on Couture Girl's profile. I would be truly honored if you voted for "That One Day," but ONLY if you really think I deserve it!

Thank you! Love you all to pieces!

Yours sincerely,

Alohamora


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